The internets are still a week behind real life

Photos from last (last) weekend are in, thanks to Gene and Dave. If you squint, you can locate me in both sets. Understandably, I don’t seem to matter to Kelly’s coworkers. Of special interest are pictures of my foot injury in progress and in retrospect. I swear that first picture isn’t what it looks like — nevertheless, in a move I’m sure to regret should I ever run for public office, we’ve started referring to the still-festering wound on top of my foot as “where I hurt myself trying to rape Taeva.”

This (last) weekend a smaller group of us drove to Lake Pend Oreille in northern Idaho, a seven-hour drive, to stay in Joslin’s parents’ cabin. Because Roark is an idiot he called the trip Cabin del Josl, and because we all love him anyway we all did as well. The cabin itself is has many more amenities than the mean shack on Lake Ozette — it’s really more of a house, and a pretty nice one at that. Joslin’s parents came to hang out with us during the day and were nice enough to let us use their ski boat, a donation which dominated the weekend. We all did enough tubing, waterskiing, battle tubing, and battle skiing to satisfy ourselves for at least a week. All those things are exactly what they sound like. I’m now good enough at waterskiing that I can actually do it long enough to give myself a sore back.

By far the most dramatic event all weekend was a sudden afternoon storm that moved in over Bottle Bay, where the cabin sits. In the space of ten minutes the lake transformed from gentle swells to white-capped waves four feet from trough to crest. We came back from a skiing trip in the boat, bouncing along the wave tops, to find that everything we’d left on the dock, including three air mattresses and some towels and clothing, had blown into / down the lake. After retrieving everything and securing the bucking boat we spent the rest of the storm bobbing up and down on the swells, laughing in the rain, wondering at the fierceness of Idaho weather. Other highlights included nightly acts of drunken skinny dipping, the faithful recreation of Neutral Milk Hotel songs at every opportunity, and Adam’s turkey burgers which by some impossible culinary miracle don’t suck.

Hopefully someone more industrious than myself will upload some photos soon so I can link them. People ask me why I don’t own a camera. Answer: everyone else does.

I think I’ve already told everyone this, but I’m about to purchase a robot vacuum, which will hopefully enable me to walk barefoot in my apartment without accumulating half-inch soles of grit and dust. If anyone has bad experiences to share (damaged furniture, mown housepets, lowered sense of self worth, etc), now would be the time. No, sweeping isn’t an option.